over creamy copper espresso
we watch Bob Ross paint a pond scene
in his second life on coffee shop Netflix
you say: all the real artists are sick/hurt
short childhoods long tears and wow
what it did for their writing & then
i watch you disintegrate superhero
movie style—a splatter of wisp
hanging then husking the way of locusts
in summer Bob’s firing butter yellow
in brush busying around cattails
i hope you reform soon wiser
with less thirst for stripes in all your heroes
without prereq pain before pen
we would all trade a dream if
it meant no more nightmares
aaaaand you’re back for the tab artifacts
dangling off you like trauma on your
bookshelf the cattails shake in fire
perfect static along the bank
Seth Copeland is the founding editor of petrichor. His work has recently appeared or is forthcoming in Yes Poetry, Random Sample, Kestrel, SOFTBLOW, Permafrost, and The Birds We Piled Loosely. He teaches in the Oklahoma City metro.
ISSUE TWENTY ONE: Smaller, Yes, ty
Rachel Nix
A Distraction of the Empty Spaces
Catherine Lee
Sine Wave
Seth Copeland
How to Create Ghosts
Genius
Janet Dale
oxytocin | ˌɑksəˈtoʊs(ə)n
Larry Thacker
Jesus Christ blends in, #2
Kate Bazin
Embers